


Ghosts of the Past Bite Back

by Jem (letalloursingingfollowhim)



Category: Six - Marlow/Moss
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Sad, catherine feels like an awful mama, catherine of aragon is not okay, i will add more tags, this hurts to write, tw: none descriptive self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22820416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letalloursingingfollowhim/pseuds/Jem
Summary: Catherine of Aragon keeps finding things about Mary that she didn't want to find out. But she can't stop.
Relationships: Anne Boleyn/Catherine of Aragon
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	Ghosts of the Past Bite Back

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I know that I haven't written much in awhile, but I got bored on holiday. I wrote this in a few interesting places, one which includes a plane. I'm not fully sure where this story is going to go, but I have at least another chapter planned for Catherine of Aragon and Cathy Parr.
> 
> For reference, this is the current WE cast.

A good idea in theory is always much different than a good idea in actuality. For example: this idea. The idea that watching an extremely biased documentary on your child was a good idea for Catherine of Aragon in theory; something which could help with closure. In actuality, the documentary left her reeling. Holding back tears of hatred for herself at just gone past twelve in the morning. The usually colder queen who often didn’t dare to truly show how she was feeling, was curled in upon herself, wanting to do nothing more than scream and cry. But there wasn’t time for that.

Rather, Catherine unfurled herself and quickly switched over the channel to whatever she could find (it was a cooking show, something Jane would like) and dug her nails into her skin, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough as so she could breathe again. There was no hope of her getting any sleep, not with her racing thoughts and pounding heart. Everything the documentary had said... had she really been such an awful mum as to cause Mary to go about the way she did? What more could she have done?

As tears welled in her eyes once more, she forced them back with a heavy blink. What if Katherine came down looking to be consoled from a night terror? What if Cathy was on a writing spree and had to re-fill her coffee mug? Catherine had no excuse for tears or her own poignant expression, so she scrubbed at her eyes hard and focused on the show aimlessly playing in the background. It was MasterChef - a show which could often place a smile on any of the queen’s face on a most awful day. Today, however, it could not.

“An awful mother; no bonding time; neglectful; Mary couldn’t be saved.” The TV had rang of these phrases, worded harshly and with malicious intent behind them. And now, that’s all which was playing through Catherine’s mind. It was on a television documentary (and in countless books), of course it had to be true! The people speaking seemed so assured of their words. Logically, Catherine knew that Henry had kept them both apart, but she couldn’t think of that. If only she had fought harder to keep her baby with her, if only she had fought to bond with her more. Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t now be deemed “Bloody Mary”.

Catherine cried. 

She couldn’t help herself anymore - the words fell too harsh, too demanding. Her own mind was turning against her. Catherine could do nothing more than sob into herself, nails re-digging back into her skin, closer to drawing blood than previously. It dawned on her a few times that if anyone were to find her in such a state that she wouldn’t be able to explain herself, but she couldn’t barely focus on that fact for the screaming of her own mind. Her own destructive mind which was now playing the most awful tricks on her.

“Mama,” she heard softly, the only thing she could hear between her own wracking sobs. Without reply, “mama,” it tried again. It was distinctly Mary, Catherine knew.

“Yes, my child?” Catherine replied, almost as like an automated response. Tears pounded harder as she spoke, but her voice was clear in her own mind.

“Mama, I miss you.” Was the next thing Catherine heard. Without a missed beat, Catherine heard it speak again. “But mama, you were a bad mother. I didn’t see you enough. I missed you too much. I wanted you every day. But you were never there an- “Catherine couldn’t let her own mind do this anymore.

“Shut up,” she snapped, throwing her hands over her ears. But it didn’t help. It was her own mind feigning her daughter’s voice, the voice which couldn’t be much older than ten or eleven. 

“Never there. Never there. Never there.” The feigned voice of Mary continued; almost like Catherine’s own mind wanted to provoke a reaction.

A harsh reaction.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Catherine pleaded, shouting almost. She didn’t know how to turn her own mind to silent - terrified that Mary would appear before her.

“Shut up? Silence me like you used to, go on,” the voice taunted, significantly older.

Catherine knew she had never intentionally silenced Mary, she had a patient temperament and didn’t often lose it - no matter how trying Mary got. It was obvious, in reality, that Catherine was exhausted and upset beyond being able to process reality correctly and her own mind was on a destructive breakdown. But even with that knowledge, she couldn’t snap out of it, nor could she give herself any slack.  
Her head was spinning and pounding with each knew jab from her “daughter”; her arm was burning more and more with each new scratch and welt. When would this end? Catherine carried on scratching at herself and sobbing until the exhaustion finally took over and she passed out on the sofa, a thin grey blanket thrown haphazardly atop of her.  
~~~~~~~~  
“Catalina?” Came the easily recognisable voice of Anne Boleyn - apparently the first up on the Wednesday morning, an incredible rarity to see.

Catherine had woken up too many times to count throughout the night due to the plaguing nightmares of her and her child, and so by five in the morning, she had given up completely. The sight of a dishevelled, obviously awfully rested Catherine of Aragon was definitely considered a shock to Anne Boleyn. To see Cathy Parr as such would not have been, but Catherine of Aragon? That was something else.

“Catherine?” Anne tried again, her voice a little lower and less obviously dripping with sarcasm, slight concern present, having changed from Catalina to Catherine.

“Mm?” Catherine replied, not daring to look over toward the door- way. She was aware that she looked terrible - tear stained eyes and bloody fingernails. 

Anne walked further in, getting a better glance at the older woman who was just about managing to sit up on their annoyingly uncomfortable pale green sofa. Anne couldn’t quite get a great look of Catherine, but it was obvious that something was very wrong.

“Rough night, huh?” Anne breathlessly laughed as Catherine tensed in her seat. She was not prepared to talk about it.

“No - don’t worry,” Catherine spoke, trying to mimic Anne’s tone. There was reason to worry, but she didn’t want to bother Anne - they were her own problems, she could sort them out herself.

Without being invited, Anne sat down beside Catherine, only now noticing her bloodied fingernails. She had a slight inkling of knowledge to what was wrong. Last night, Anne had been flicking through a few different channels and checking what programs or films were on for the rest of the night. On the history channel she had stumbled upon a documentary which was going to be shown about Mary Tudor - Bloody Mary. Anne was almost sure, now, that Catherine had watched it. Catherine was always trying to find new ways to stop the pain of the thought of her child - maybe she had considered a documentary to be a good method of closure? Anne surely had about Elizabeth more than once.

“Don’t give me that. I know what happened,” Anne replied, sighing.

Catherine’s eyes welled up again. How did Anne know? Or was this a ruse to get her to open up? “No you don’t,” Catherine tried, building up her defences to avoid crying in front of Anne Boleyn.

“You watched the documentary about Mary.”

“What?” Catherine asked, nonplussed. 

“You did what I’ve tried to do countless times. I saw the TV plan when I was trying to look for something to watch. It hurts, hmm?”

Catherine could do no more than nod - bursting into tears. Anne quickly eased up closer beside Catherine, offering open arms which Catherine accepted gratefully. “It was- “Catherine tried to speak, barely able to formulate what she wanted to say.

“I know. They’re always...wrong. Biased.” Anne hugged her older friend as she sobbed into her green dressing gown. 

It hurt, Anne knew, the misinformation, the close mindedness, the fact it was all so worryingly wrong. She had spent countless hours crying over her girl, trying to find out more and more information on what had happened to her and how she had become. Many a time had she started a book or a documentary but all it had done was make her feel awful. Anything on the queens always seemed to be presented in an incorrect and often, a biased light. No matter what though, it was always Mary Tudor and Katherine Howard painted the worst.

Catherine nodded. It wasn’t the first time that she had tried to watch something on Mary, but it was the first time she had finished the entire thing. “It was all so wrong, Anne. My baby was a good girl. Where did I go wrong?” Catherine spoke between crying.

“Nowhere… It was Henry - he was the one who separated you both...” Anne caught herself before she mentioned that she was also a cause of some of Catherine’s grievances. The affairs she had with Henry surely took a toll on the woman. But again, it was Henry. Anne had hardly much of a choice. And even then, doing what he wanted, ending in a beheading. She scolded herself time and time again for what she had done in the past. She still, years later, felt awful for the hurt she caused people – the whole country of England, even.

“I could have done more…” Catherine whispered, pulling away from Anne, head in hands. Catherine couldn’t get past the incessant voices telling her she was an awful mother. It still was so loud even if the documentary had ended hours ago.

“Cath – you couldn’t have. No matter what you tell yourself, Henry was the one to blame for all of this. It wasn’t your fault,” Anne spoke thickly, her own mind a whirr with thoughts.

“Bu- “Catherine tried.

“No buts. It wasn’t your fault, it was that twat’s” Anne laughed, shaking her head slowly.

Catherine nodded, not wanting to keep going on. She didn’t accept the fact it wasn’t her fault; the documentary had just been so insistent and her mind wouldn’t shut up. But she nodded. The clock was showing almost seven in the morning, everyone would surely be down soon, and she couldn’t stand explaining to anyone else what was wrong. Having opened up to Anne Boleyn was bad enough. Catherine wasn’t used to having anyone to speak openly to, or someone who understood.

“Yeah,” Catherine smiled, sitting fully up, ignoring her biting thoughts. “Let’s get breakfast, hm?”

Anne agreed, a little wary of how quickly Catherine bounced back, but accepting if she didn’t want to talk about it. It was hard, she knew, talking about their children. To even think of Elizabeth caused Anne’s chest to tighten. “Breakfast sounds good.”

A smile, not quite reaching the eyes, was shone to Anne, and Anne shone one back.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you thought!


End file.
